


When the Heart Breaks

by CCNilesBabcock



Category: The Nanny
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29893026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNilesBabcock/pseuds/CCNilesBabcock
Summary: It's 1950, and Niles Brightmore has left a war-torn Europe to start afresh in New York. Taking on a butler's role in the house of the wealthy Mr and Mrs Graves, he can't help feeling tension in the house, especially when he looks at the cold, distant Mrs C.C. Graves. Is he destined to bring warmth where there only seems to be cold, or will he find himself turned out? - Co-written W/ CrownedLioness
Relationships: C.C. Babcock & Niles (The Nanny)
Kudos: 1





	When the Heart Breaks

** Chapter I **

Mr and Mrs Chandler Graves. Niles played the names over in his head, practicing them and making sure he had them as correct as the new address. The new address for postage, the new cars so that he could tell when either of his employers was arriving home, and...well, he would have expected a new telephone number but he’d been rather surprised to find that there was only one telephone in the house. One he would apparently never be expected to answer. He’d attempted to ask why that was – after all, it was usually in the job description – but he’d been brushed off and moved on without much of an explanation. Not beyond the reassurance that he would never have to answer it, because Mr Graves would and it wouldn’t ring when he wasn’t around.

It hadn’t been what he’d been expecting to hear, but he supposed he had to take it. If it was the rule in the house, he wasn’t going to disobey. He was their new butler, after all, and the last thing he wanted to do was get off on the wrong foot with the people who’d been gracious enough to...well, employ him. Not that they’d met him yet, even after a week of working in the house. He’d technically been hired and shown around by the housekeeper, a kind if hesitant-sounding woman named Margaret, after the old butler had left quite unexpectedly. There hadn’t been a reason for it. At least, Niles assumed no reason had been given. Margaret actually seemed quite reticent to talk about his predecessor and his departure.

He hadn’t heard of his new employers before now, so he couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing; they seemed to keep much to themselves in society. Perhaps they preferred it that way? The hustle and bustle of New York couldn’t always be for everybody. He hadn’t asked any of the servants (his new staff, he supposed, as the butler was the ranking servant in a house) what they thought of the place, or of working there yet, either – not much, at any rate. He wanted to continue to get a feel for it himself, without being influenced by what anybody else thought.

Not that any of the other servants had had much to say about anything else when he’d arrived. Then again, it was possible that they didn’t feel as though they could talk to him – he was their overseer now, after all. They might have been getting used to him being around just as much as he was getting used to being in charge.

It hadn’t stopped feeling...off, in the house though. It seemed too quiet. Too still, no matter what anybody was doing indoors. He wanted to blame it on the fact that his new master was currently away on a business trip and had been since before Niles had arrived in the house. He was due back any day from then, but Niles couldn’t pinpoint when that would exactly be. No one else had been able to give him a more definite answer either.

Meanwhile, his new mistress had apparently been in her bed for all the time he’d been in the house. When questioned, Margaret had simply said that Mrs Graves was unwell and needed all the rest she could get. She hadn’t elaborated when Niles had then – delicately – asked after their mistress’ condition. He hadn’t taken offence when she’d practically dismissed him for that; it was probably too soon for him to know such things. But even knowing that the master was away and the mistress wasn’t well enough to be wandering the house wasn’t sitting right with him. The house still seemed thick with an atmosphere of sadness. Gloom, almost. It felt unwelcoming in every corner, despite the fact that it looked every inch a perfect family home otherwise.

He’d seen most places in the house in his first week, and each of them gave him the same heavy, ominous unease. And for the life of him, he couldn’t put his finger on why. Well, the unfriendliness of it all could be his nerves, he supposed. Especially as the people had all been so awkward and stiff around him so far. But they’d had to speak to him a little more that morning, as their mistress had apparently felt well enough to leave her bedroom and he would need to serve her breakfast in the dining room.

He was more than prepared to do that. It was about time he got to meet at least one of his employers – he hadn’t even been sent a word of welcome to acknowledge his arrival! If he’d felt more secure in his position and around the others, he might’ve joked that she might not even know he was there and it would be a surprise for her to see that their butler had changed his face.

But, he didn’t. And he didn’t want word getting back to Mrs Graves about that sort of thing, anyway. She’d been unwell for all this time and he had to take that into account, even if it might have seemed rude in any other situation. The last thing he wanted to come across as was insensitive, especially when it was his duty to see to her every need.

He quickly gathered the tray from the kitchen, not wanting to keep her waiting. He kept himself at a brisk but even pace, too. This was his chance to introduce himself and show his mistress just what he could do. Being late wouldn’t put them on the right foot, and neither would tripping and dropping the entire tray. He didn’t want to earn himself a reputation as an unreliable or (worse) bumbling butler right from the start – he needed to make a good impression. He couldn’t afford to lose this job…

When he’d first left Britain it had been for mainland Europe, with a rifle on his shoulder and an order to shoot any Nazi he saw between the eyes. But this latest time – the time he was currently occupying – he had come to try and escape the horrors the war had inflicted upon his own country. The economy was in tatters and trying to hold down a job...well, it hadn’t been easy when nearly all the money the government could give was being put to rebuilding. So, he’d gone to America, with what meagre savings he’d had, and had made a few more meagre savings by doing odd jobs in hotels and restaurants, renting rooms in guest houses and from some of the worst landlords he’d ever seen. But, he had done it. And, all the while, he’d dreamt of having somewhere permanent to live and to work.

Now that he had that somewhere, three years after that time and now firmly in 1950, he wasn’t intending to lose it. No matter how much the house was already making him feel uncomfortable...

He had to steel himself a little before he entered the dining room, taking in a breath and letting it out, before heading inside. This was something he was familiar with: carrying a tray in both hands and not saying a word beyond what he knew he had to. There was no chance of tripping up this close – his mistress wasn’t far now. He could see her frame seated opposite the door, most likely in the spot she’d occupy at dinner, with her back against her chair as much as it could be. It looked like she was trying to ease an ache, or brace herself against the possibility of nausea and more in the not-too-distant future. She also had a book clasped in one hand, covering her face.

An...oddly _gloved_ hand. Covered at the wrist by long sleeves, which ran all the way along her arms and up her shoulders. They went right up to the neckerchief that blocked all view of her neck, and made a little more concern creep into Niles’ veins.

Wouldn’t she be hot, dressed like that, in the middle of July? Or had her illness made her cold, or at least unable to stand the possibility? It had to be very serious indeed, if even her hands being cold could cause her to be affected!

She seemed to be reading intently, and Niles wondered how long she’d been there. He hoped it wasn’t too long. He’d come as soon as anyone had informed him...

With all the politeness one could muster and with the gentlemanliness of one who didn’t want to startle a sickly woman, he cleared his throat before speaking.

“Breakfast is served, ma’am.”

Mrs Graves slowly looked up at him then, lowering the book, and even from nearly across the room he could see the blue of her eyes set against her pale skin. _Very_ pale skin – most likely a sign of whatever affliction was currently affecting her. It helped that her golden hair was swept up away from her face – it made it more open, and easier to see, along with her long nose and strong jawline. Even if she did look unwell (and there was no denying that something was wrong, in that regard), Niles couldn’t deny that she was absolutely stunning, in a way he hadn’t expected. And she was younger than he’d imagined, too – in her early 20’s, perhaps? Late 20’s at the most, if he was being generous with the possibility, even though her features would disagree.

In either case, she was far younger and more innocent to the ways of the world than he had expected her to be, or look. She was the kind of girl his squadron friends had all claimed to have waiting for them at home, while they were busy flirting and trying to dance or head off into the night with the French waitresses who kept bringing them wine at the bars they visited. But she was also a whole class above any of those girls – real or fantasy. She just seemed to breathe elegance and grace, along with a cool, quiet dignity.

It was more than a little surprising (circling the edge of flooring) for him, to be met by the sight of such a woman. Was her husband also that age? Older? He had imagined such a grand house to have had owners who’d lived there and run the place for years—

“Are you going to stand there and make me come get it, or are you going bring it here?”

The snap was unexpected, slapping Niles back into reality. A knot of annoyance started to tighten in his chest, and his eyes focused back on his mistress’ stony expression.

Deep in the knot of annoyance, there were twists of embarrassment. He...he had been staring, he realised that. But there wasn’t any need for her to be so...so blunt about it! Neither had met before, and yet she was already treating him like some dogsbody she’d known and kicked about since her days as a schoolgirl! Neither knew how the other “worked”, as it were, yet. She could’ve at least granted him the courtesy of some patience, given that it was his first time...

For all she knew, he might’ve been waiting for him to get permission to come further into the room...!

It was hard not to just come out and say that, though. He was...rather outspoken sometimes, for a servant, even if he did say so himself. It made not turning and immediately blurting out that he was the new butler and had yet to be properly introduced or informed of what he was doing...difficult.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he replied, keeping an eye on how hard he was clutching the tray, given the fact that he would need to let go of it in a moment. “I will come over.”

“Finally. Bring it here,” Mrs Graves ordered, a quick and impatient tone to her words.

Niles obeyed, trying not to make his blink look judgemental, or accusatory. He hoped that it worked, even if he wasn’t going to be sorry if it didn’t.

No greeting, then. Not even so much as to ask if he was new. Did she know they had a new butler, or was she so used to never looking at servants that she didn’t realise?

He didn’t know. And as irked as it made him right then, he was going to force himself not to care. This was a job, not a place for making friends. Especially not with pompous, snooty, p-pregnant...?!

He’d come almost to a halt as he was thinking, rounding the nearest side of the table and all the chairs to see Mrs Graves in her entirety. No wonder she was sat back – it was probably as close as she could currently get to reaching her plate! Despite all his talk of politeness and the trouble he’d gotten into just now, he couldn’t help but stare again at the roundness of her middle – a definite pregnancy, that not one of the other servants had thought to mention! How could they possibly have neglected to mention this?! It completely changed how he was supposed to look after the mistress of the house! Did the other servants never see her and not know? Did they not care?! Did they expect him to go in and just work it out for himself? Because at that moment, that was all he could think!

The place felt like a joke already, so he supposed it was darkly appropriate that his mind immediately raised an eyebrow and commented on it being no wonder she seemed snappy. With no butler in the house before now and her husband not around to help, she probably hadn’t been as comfortable as she could’ve been. Maybe it was the pregnancy that was making her unwell in the first place? If that were the truth, he could only imagine how long the months before this one had been!

Or maybe whatever this condition was, it was making her current expectant state feel that much worse. Which he supposed couldn’t have been pleasant or enjoyable in any shape or form. Especially if there had been no one around to help, or to take away the frustrations before they became overwhelming.

That had changed now, though. Perhaps things might start to look up, once she realised that this was the new butler, ready and waiting to help, stood before her...?

“Stop looking at me and get to work!”

His hopes were dashed in an instant, as her clear displeasure at...well, what appeared to be everything, came through and brought him back down to Earth with more than a substantial bump. It was frustrating that he had no other choice but to obey her angry gestures as she quickly waved a hand at the empty space in front of her on the table.

It was even more frustrating that he had no choice but to be polite about it.

“Are you always this slow? I’ve seen snails crawling up the walls in the yard that move faster than you!”

Niles had to bite down on his tongue. It would’ve been so easy to say something about how nice it must’ve been to not work and to get to stare at snails all day...

But he couldn’t. He knew that he couldn’t and – right this instant – it would be dangerous to even test the waters. Luckily, being in the Army has given him plenty of experience in not going overboard. Not every officer he came across had been good to him, or his friends. If he could put up with those arseholes while bullets were flying over his head, or there was a tank heading straight in their direction, he could more than put up with a slightly spoiled brat of a mistress in exchange for decent money and a roof over his head.

So, he nodded his head like a small bow, taking the last few steps towards the table.

“Of course, ma’am. My apologies.”

He tried to see if she rolled her eyes to no one in particular at his behaviour, but when he leaned over to set her breakfast tray on the table, the angle made it impossible. He just had to assume that it had happened. Why wouldn’t it? He was probably looking much like a stereotypical British buffoon in her eyes, making himself seen and heard too much already and he’d only been in the house five minutes. If, again, she’d even noticed that he hadn’t been there before.

When he finally straightened his back and looked up, she was certainly staring at him enough to make Niles think that something was, at last, amiss in her world. Not that he was going to deter for a moment from his good-little-butler routine. Not until she did something to make it fall away, at any rate.

“You’re the new butler,” she commented, at long last saying the words that Niles found so prodigal, he’d slaughter a fatted calf upon honour of their being said.

Some recognition, at last! It was almost enough to make him jump up and yell in excitement (or at least gratitude that she hadn’t stayed completely silent that whole time), if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was more than sure he could be fired if he made the wrong move. Besides, apart from answer what she’d said, what was there to talk about now? He’d moved his things in, he’d been shown around – what was left for her to do?

“I am indeed, ma’am,” he replied, unfolding a napkin to lay across...well, to sit on her belly, if it couldn’t reach her lap.

The reply brought a new icy expression to his mistress.

“Then you’d better make damn sure you get better at your job!” she near enough snarled like a bear. “I expect more from the help.”

Again, Niles had to remind himself not to snap at his new patron, lest he find himself back on the street and with no prospective job in sight.

She was quite possibly one of the most unpleasant employers he'd had to serve – yes, he understood his place as a servant, but he expected some modicum of courtesy from employers. He’d never been referred to as “the help” by anyone else he’d ever served. It almost made him not want to be of any help to her, but if he even tried that he feared he might as well just pack his bags that instant.

If he wanted the job, he had no other option but to grin and bear it. So, through gritted teeth, he forced himself to say a very polite "Of course ma'am."

He didn't know why he bothered, though. Ignoring him almost entirely, she went straight to the breakfast that he’d brought and started to dig her way through it. Whatever this mysterious illness was, it certainly hadn’t ruined her appetite...

He stood back to give her some space, but as he hadn’t been dismissed, he didn’t leave. She’d probably want him nearby to pour tea or to fetch things anyway, because of course she would, so there wasn’t any point in asking if he should go either.

Not that a brat like that would probably let him go, even if she didn’t need him. That sort took delight in holding the power over servants’ heads, with little phrases like “Could you maybe just...” and then listing off a whole days’ worth of chores before the poor man or woman could go. Or, there was that oh-so-popular “Did I say that you could leave?”, when both parties knew the servant had nothing left to do but stand there.

Stand there, and watch as his new mistress...slowly made her way around the plate. He didn’t know if the pregnancy was making her stiff, but she certainly moved that way. She was taking everything tenderly, never picking up too much, or reaching out. She bit down on her toast carefully, chewing very slowly and deliberately before she swallowed. If she needed something from the far side of the plate she simply turned the thing to get it, and she’d moved her glass of orange juice so that it was within easy reaching distance...

It was...almost as if she was sore...

It didn’t seem right, either. He’d served pregnant women before, and even if they’d had their aches and pains, none of them had ever been like this! There was delicate movement, yes, but watching his new mistress try to eat her breakfast was like watching someone walking around with a wound. And this was just the latest odd thing about this house, on top of an atmosphere colder than the grave, a mistress in clothing fit for late autumn, and all of her snapped insults.

But still he watched, because having a roof over his head was more important than any message inside it telling him to run and get the hell out of there. He watched, as his mistress reached out for her glass of juice, and her sleeve slipped down her arm, away from her wrist. 

And his eyes immediately snapped to the dark, purple-brown patch that opened up in the space between her glove and sleeve.

What...what was that...? It...it looked like...like bruises.

Oh dear God, that’s what they were, wasn’t it?

Old bruises, fading in parts but still horrifically present, which she immediately tried to cover again by pulling her clothing back into place. She was hiding them. Christ, she was covering them up by wearing long sleeved clothing!

His felt his jaw clench itself tight as his feet froze to the floor. Mrs Graves’ arm was covered in bruises! Was her other arm the same way? Was this why she was moving so stiffly, so uncomfortably? Could...could this explain her current mood? Was she in so much pain that it was making her angry and upset to have to deal with anybody at all?

The butler tried to swallow but found that he couldn’t. His eyes had already caught more of the dark patches, as horrifying to look at as any open and bloodied cut, creeping out from under her neckerchief as well. They...looked like fingerprints, moving up and around like shadows of hands that had tried to...

Niles’ stomach plunged, a desperately ill feeling suddenly surging over his whole body, and he gagged. He held it as best he could, not wanting his mistress to see or hear, but it was so difficult. His mind had already started to race in its panic, his face feeling like it was quickly being sapped of all colour, and his heart was thudding against his chest as though demanding to be let out of there.

Someone had done something awful to this woman...someone...someone had attacked her! But who could’ve done such a thing?! Had it been just a threat, or full attempt on Mrs Graves’ life?! Who had been so callous...so, so evil, as to choke a pregnant woman?!

It had to be one of the most abhorrent things Niles had ever heard of! What kind of an animal – no, monster – did such a thing?! Whoever had done it had no right to walk among decent, civilised society – not while still calling themselves a person, at any rate! They could take up a lesser position in society; they were already a lowlife, and as such could become a lower life form. If, of course, the bastard who did it had been found. He couldn’t imagine Mr Graves letting some brute attack his wife in such a manner!

He was, however, suddenly brought out of it by his mistress rasping her throat in his direction. She was sticking him with an obviously annoyed look – a look of utter impatience and contempt.

“Did you just _gag_?” she asked, the words quite deliberate. “You feeling sick on this job already?!”

Niles’ stomach somehow found a ledge to roll off and plunged again. Oh God, he thought he’d been quite enough that she hadn’t heard him!

She couldn’t know. She couldn’t know what he’d really been looking at and thinking about; that’d cost him everything, without question. No chances to explain, and barely any time to pack his bags!

“No, ma’am.”

It was the hardest lie he’d ever told, knowing what lurked just underneath her sleeves and the neckerchief she was slowly rearranging. It covered the bruises better, which helped Niles’ insides start to settle. He wouldn’t have the same...gagging issue...again. His mistress’ eyes were already narrowed at him, though. It was obvious she didn’t believe him. Perhaps the colour hadn’t come back to his cheeks yet – he didn’t think he was sweating, or giving off any other clues...apart from, perhaps, the general air of one who was lying through his teeth.

“Then what the heck is wrong with you?” she demanded sharply. “Is something the matter in here?”

She meant it as a general comment, of course – she had to, didn’t she? – but Niles couldn’t help wanting to scream that yes, yes there was something the matter. It was right there, underneath her sleeves and neckerchief, and it was making him sick to think that someone had done that to her!

But it wasn’t as though he could say any of that. Not without immediately forfeiting a home and financial security.

“No, ma’am. Nothing is the matter,” he replied quickly. Too quickly? “I’m not feeling sick...”

Mrs Graves seemed to consider him for a moment longer, before she let out a low grunt. It was all he needed to know he’d gotten away with it.

This time.

“If you like it where you are, I suggest you stay that way,” she warned, turning back to her breakfast. “I don’t tolerate help who can’t do what they’re supposed to do.”

Niles nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”

It was the last spattering of conversation they had for the rest of breakfast. Niles simply stood there, watching her finish eating and wondering how he could possibly stomach seeing those bruises again when even thinking of them made him want to be sick. He was holding back a tidal wave of thoughts about what could’ve happened, too. Not that he could dive too deeply into them. He had to be present in the moment – he knew his mistress’ patience was hanging by a thread and if she addressed him again and he wasn’t paying attention...

It was scraping the bottom of the barrel for luck, that she didn’t call on him again the whole time she ate. And he was paying attention enough to notice when she was ready for him to take the breakfast tray away. He did it gladly, never feeling so relieved to be dismissed from a room in his life.

The fear that he might have ruined it all, on his very first day, with his very first task...

He couldn’t be sure, though. All he could do was resolve to avoid his mistress until it was absolutely necessary. Which, unfortunately, would be the next time she called for him. But after this, that probably wouldn’t be for a while. It might give him some proper time to think. About everything he had just seen, and the way she had reacted to it.

Maybe the other servants would know? He was owed more than a few answers, and as the ranking servant in the house, they had no choice but to tell him what he wanted to know...

He certainly needed answers.

Having seen the dregs of brutal abuse on a young mother was bad enough, but not knowing what had happened to her or why she felt so self-conscious about something that wasn't her fault was probably going to drive him insane. He hadn't meant to upset her! His reaction had been born out of shock, not morbid curiosity. Still, he supposed he should have been professional about it. Not staring at one's employers was one of the basic lessons at butler academy, and he'd completely disregarded the instructions that had been drilled into his head!

Had his father been alive, Niles was certain he'd have called him a disgrace.

Niles couldn't help but pull a face, a tangled mess of questions bouncing inside him and colliding into the many feelings of inadequacy that were sprouting in his mind. If he was to keep this job, he needed answers. He couldn't serve masters he didn't know, and if something awful had happened to the mistress of the house, he should be privy to it.

Who'd hurt her? And why? Was this person locked away? If not, he could only think it made sense for her to be so aloof – anyone would be, after having experienced trauma. He knew the feeling well. The war hadn’t entirely left him unscarred, and for the longest time, he hadn’t felt able to get close to anybody. He had seen too many people hurt, too many boys dying on the ground while they cried for their mothers, too many bodies leaving bombed out towns under sheets in the backs of military trucks...

He’d had to take part in too much of it. So, he’d shut himself off – it was the only way he’d been able to survive the sheer brutality and terror of it all. And he had more than a gut feeling that that was what Mrs Graves was doing as well, even if she didn’t know or realise. She was trying not to get more hurt than she already had been.

He turned a corner into the kitchen, immediately catching sight of the cooks and the maids going about their business as they cleaned up after breakfast and got things ready to start on lunch. Margaret would probably be in there too, or around the area, and if anybody in the house knew what was going on, it was her. She would know if something had happened to the mistress of the house. As housekeeper, she’d have to. She’d understand how determined Niles was to know as well, and she’d be more likely to tell him than anyone else. How else would he be able to help her, as best he could, if he didn’t understand what was going on?

He was more than sure that it would give him a better sense of peace about the place. He might relax a bit more, if he knew everything about it. Just like any good butler knew all the secrets of the house he served.

He was in luck – Margaret was at the back, having a quiet cup of tea to herself at the table. She got up the moment she noticed him approaching and attempted to take the tray from his hands, but he shook his head and set it down by the rest of the dishes for the kitchen maid to wash up later. He might’ve been in charge of the housekeeper, technically, but he didn’t want to waste time by working too formally when there were more important matters to hand.

 _Private_ matters, which meant the cooks and everyone he didn’t need to talk to in the room had to go.

“Can you give myself and Margaret a moment alone, please, gentlemen?” he didn’t apparently need to tell the cooks twice, but the maids in the corner needed some more ushering. “Ladies...?”

Margaret blinked at him, watching but clearly not understanding what was going on as he waved everyone out. Niles didn’t turn and see it though, until they were the only two people left in the kitchen.

“Is somethin’ wrong, sir? Last butler, Mr Johnson, never needed to talk to anybody alone,” she said, slightly shortly, her Southern drawl making it a little harder to understand at first.

Niles bit back a frown. This wasn’t the way he had expected any of this to go. He had had in his mind this image of charging in and just straight out demanding the answer to all his questions. This didn’t feel anything like that – it was far more...passive. He had to force it to come. He had to know the answer; he wasn’t sure he could live with the growing sense of worry.

“Well, I’m not Mr Johnson,” he told her, trying not to shift uncomfortably on his feet. “I just have some questions that I want answered.”

He saw Margaret raise an eyebrow, and took it as a cue that he should ask before she got talking about how Mr Johnson never asked any questions because he knew what he was doing.

Taking a deep breath, he started.

“It’s...well, it’s about the bruises. Why does Mrs Graves—”

“You stop right there!”

Niles reeled, stomach clenching briefly. He hadn’t been expecting that. What on Earth did Margaret think she was doing, talking to him in that fashion...? So clearly and so...so harshly?

He’d tried to ask as politely as possible, even if it was a delicate subject, but Margaret was looking at him as though he’d just asked how best to commit a felony!

“I’m sorry?” he was perplexed. “Have...Have I said something wrong?”

The groan that came from Margaret’s throat sounded nearly primeval – like she was channelling the spirit of every woman who’d ever been annoyed by a man asking a stupid question.

“Wrong like you wouldn’t believe!” Margaret cried, the fact that she’d been shushing him only seconds ago apparently long forgotten.

She looked around briefly, checking that they hadn’t been overheard. Niles’ face fell even further into dismay than it was.

“I only want to know what’s wrong!” he protested. Quietly. “How can I do that without asking questions?”

Margaret pinched the bridge of her nose, sighed and looked back up again. She’d needed a moment to collect herself.

“Now you listen here,” she warned, aiming one finger at his chest. “You shouldn’t even be thinkin’ about those sorts’a questions, let alone askin’. You could get her into a lotta trouble, y’know!”

“Trouble?” Niles repeated almost incredulously, not quite understanding what the maid meant. He knew who she meant, of course, but everything else was currently beyond him. “How on Earth would I get her into trouble?”

“Mr Graves could be home at any minute!” Margaret hissed back at him. “If he comes home and hears you askin’ about her, he…”

The housekeeper trailed off with a shudder.

“Just…don’t ask questions, and do anythin’ she asks – God knows that woman deserves some kindness in her life!”

What? Kindness? What on Earth was that supposed to mean?! Why was she making it sound like Mrs Graves would be in danger if he asked about...well, anything, or did things slightly his way instead of completely her way? Why was that a kindness, and not an employer and employee each figuring out how the other worked...?

Did...did she even need any more kindness? She had everything she needed in life, and she had to be safe from...from whatever had happened. Didn’t she? She was certainly lucky to have everything else so why wouldn’t she be lucky enough to have basic human decency as well?

It didn’t make any sense that she wouldn’t...

Was the housekeeper saying all this so that he would fall into line with the rest of the servants?

But even part of that didn’t make sense. Surely everybody would’ve been doing it by now, if that were the case...! She had to be telling the truth, but he was incredulous that someone in Mrs Graves’ position was in need of something so basic. So fundamental to the human experience. Was it an invisible something she was lacking, in a house that was filled to the brim with things? Something that made her feel empty inside, that possessions could not fill?

And the housekeeper had mentioned Mr Graves, too. Was he not the loving, caring and devoted husband that Niles had imagined? Was he...perhaps, cold and distant, never giving affection or warmth, and only buying his wife things to placate and distract her from what she really wanted? Really needed?

Niles could imagine it, if that were the case. Not that it was fully settling right with him as the full answer – something still seemed like it was missing. Like a jigsaw with a piece taken directly out of the centre.

“What are you talking about?” he asked. “What do you mean, she needs kindness? Doesn’t she get that already?”

But it didn’t appear as though Margaret was willing to give him any answers beyond that. If anything, she looked panicked by his enquiries. She made a noise in the back of her throat and shuffled a little on her feet, before she finally worked up the courage to say anything at all.

“You have a job here, let that be enough; you don’t wanna spoil it with questions you don’t need answered,” she said, before turning to hurry away. “‘Specially when that could get us all in trouble...!”

Before Niles could ask what she meant by that, she opened the door again and practically fled the room, leaving him by himself. Well, by himself but with all these unanswered questions. He didn’t know what to do with any of them, either. Could he take Margaret’s apparent “advice” and just leave well enough alone? It didn’t seem the right thing to do. Not if Mrs Graves was hurting in some way that could be prevented, if someone spoke up.

But was that someone him? He was but a servant, after all. And she had dismissed him in anger already for getting too close...

Wandering over to where Margaret had been sat, he seated himself and slumped at the table. He had no more work for that day, as far as he was aware and no one had called him to do anything more. He wasn’t sure what he would do, until the time came for him to eat with the others. Today had been difficult enough already, without all of the mysterious questions going around the house like ghosts only he could see.

Well, only he would acknowledge, anyway. That was the problem he wasn’t sure if he could fix. And, if his gut was telling him correctly, Mrs Graves needed it fixed before it was too late.


End file.
